


Tanha (Thirst)

by onnasannomiya



Series: Proposition 'Verse [4]
Category: Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral (2018), Heneral Luna (2015)
Genre: #CrimesAgainstMiong, #NotSorryAtAll, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe-Office, Dirty Talk, Infidelity, M/M, Sexual Content, alternate universe-lawyers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 01:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13846821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onnasannomiya/pseuds/onnasannomiya
Summary: A bleaker version of the events in Reunion. In which Miong both gets- and doesn’t get- what he wants.





	Tanha (Thirst)

**Author's Note:**

> For those who think I let Miong off lightly in my previous fic, this is for you. But for those who just want to see Mabinaldo happy, you might want to steer clear of this one. (Though maybe, you might enjoy the fic I'll be posting at the same time as this one. Though the focus may not be on them, but on EJ, at least they're getting married there). Oh, and I also borrowed a line from the poem in "10 Things I Hate About You." It fit. No regrets.

_I hate and love. Why I do so, perhaps you ask?_

_I know not, but I feel it, and I am in torment._

  * Catullus 85 (Loeb Classical Library)



 

 

Miong’s not an addict. But he’s as good as one.

 

His addiction is not alcohol, tobacco, or women- though he has indulged liberally in all three vices in his life so far (still does, in the case of the first two). Nevertheless, he is hooked on something that he knows is bad for him. Yet knowing this doesn’t make any difference-he has no intention or desire to stop. Not when every taste of it has him craving for the next fix. He couldn’t get enough.

 

It all started a year ago. To be more accurate, the real starting point might have been four years ago-when _he_ first came into Miong’s life- but last year was when his current cycle of addiction began.

 

A class action had been filed against one of his firm’s most prominent- and lucrative- clients. But unexpectedly, they were losing. Miong had severely reprimanded the senior associate in charge on handling their client’s defense for letting himself be put at a disadvantage by the lawyer representing the opposing side. Who apparently was from a no-name firm, and had been practicing law for less than two years. Right then and there, Miong decided that his intervention was needed so he took over the case. But he found himself blindsided when he saw the name of the lawyer for the plaintiffs printed on one of the numerous documents generated by the case. Discovering the identity of the lawyer who had managed to back one of his firm’s most seasoned associates into a corner made Miong’s blood run cold.

 

_Apolinario Mabini_

Pole showed no emotion at all when Miong finally saw him during one of the depositions for the lawsuit. His former assistant betrayed no sign of discomfort or intimidation at being back in Miong’s offices, up against a name partner who had been his boss just a few years ago. That day had been long, draining, and contentious. Throughout the deposition, Pole seldom deigned to address Miong directly, but whenever Miong manages to get his attention, Pole just glances at him coolly like he was a stranger. And whenever he spoke, it was with the confidence of a lawyer who knows that he has the upper hand, so everyone else would just have to keep up. It was all Miong could do to maintain his professional façade on that day, since his feelings at that point were anything but professional.

 

When the deposition was done, Miong headed over to Pole as his former assistant was about to exit the conference room. He catches Pole’s wrist in one of his hands as the latter reaches for the handle of one of the glass doors. “I never thought I’d meet you here again like this, Attorney Mabini. But it’s a nice surprise,” Miong said, feigning nonchalance. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

 

“I don’t discuss details of an ongoing case with opposing counsel,” Pole replied disinterestedly. He tries to open the door again, but Miong doesn’t let go of Pole’s wrist.

 

“This won’t be about the case, Pole,” Miong cajoled.

 

“Nor do I have time for a stroll down memory lane, Mr. Aguinaldo,” came Pole’s rejoinder, curt and dismissive. “See you in court.”

 

“You’ll lose anyway,” Miong bit back, stung. He releases Pole’s wrist.

 

“We’ll see,” was all Pole said, brushing past Miong towards the elevators.

 

Pole did prove to be one hell of an opponent-perhaps the most formidable one Miong has ever faced, combining a near-encyclopedic knowledge of the law with finely-honed instincts for persuasion and strategy. Miong had been confident that he can still turn the case around in his favor-earlier, he had dispatched their firm’s trusty in-house private investigator, Gregorio del Pilar, to dig up dirt on the complainants, or at least find something that Miong can use as ammunition against Pole in court. As always, Goyong had come through, and Miong had made sure to play his trump card at exactly the right moment. Yet it seemed Pole had anticipated and even planned for that, since he was able to invoke a precedent that would prevent the information Miong had revealed from being admitted as evidence in the court proceedings. Unluckily for Miong, the judge had been swayed into taking Pole’s side. How aggravating it was for Miong, having to listen to Pole’s calm, authoritative voice, effortlessly commanding the attention of everyone in the courtroom, cut through Miong’s arguments with his own incisive, well-reasoned rebuttals. The fact that Miong can remember how that voice can sound so _wrecked_ in other circumstances only heightened Miong’s frustration. Those memories made him ache. Made him burn.

 

He didn’t lose the case-it didn’t get to that point. However, his clients had agreed on a hefty settlement for the plaintiffs rather than risk the costs of protracted litigation and pay astronomical damages in case of defeat. He had managed to retain the clients for his firm by sheer dint of persuasion, but they were very vocal in expressing their displeasure, which had been particularly galling for Miong. Nonetheless, after the terms of the settlement had been ironed out, he approached Pole again. “Congratulations on your victory, Atty. Mabini,” Miong conceded. “You have thoroughly bested me. Would you let me buy you dinner this time, now that the case is over? You can gloat all you want.”

 

Pole just looks back at Miong dispassionately. “I don’t gloat. But dinner would be fine.”

 

Miong drove them to a restaurant situated in a business hotel located just a couple of miles away from the Hall of Justice. Over dinner, Miong took the chance to tell Pole how much he regretted exploiting Pole’s straitened circumstances at that time to get what he wanted out of his former assistant. He admitted that the contract he had made Pole sign three years ago was a blatant abuse of his position to fulfill his selfish whims. And he finished by saying that while there can be no justification for what he had done to Pole, he still can’t help but hope that Pole will forgive him anyway.

 

Pole remained silent through it all, his face giving Miong no clue as to what he’s thinking or feeling. But when Miong had finished talking, Pole leaned forward across their shared table to whisper, “I have a proposition for you, this time.” His next sentence was delivered in a low, quiet tone, but every word was clear. It hit Miong like a sucker punch to the gut. “Get a room upstairs and fuck me. I’m yours for the night.”

 

Miong hadn’t been expecting that in the least, but he complied with alacrity. He took Pole’s hand into his as they left the restaurant, so that Miong can reserve a room for them at the hotel lobby’s front desk. All the while, he wanted to ask Pole _why_ and _why now,_ but he decided those questions can be saved for later. This is what he needs.

 

Pole’s lips were on his as soon as Miong closed the door to their hotel room behind them. Miong groaned as he deepened the kiss and gradually backed Pole towards the bed, hastily divesting Pole of his clothing at the same time. Their coupling was frantic and almost animalistic, both of them desperate in their twinned desires to fuck and get fucked.

 

Rapture came over them quickly, and it was over all too soon. Miong was about to spoon Pole into his arms and tell him how much he missed him while caressing him some more, only to be caught off-balance when Pole said suddenly, “I’m seeing someone else.”

 

Miong goes still at that, while Pole kept talking. “For almost a year now. He’s the man you saw me with at the office lobby three years ago, in case you’re wondering. He’s brilliant, funny, and thoughtful. I greatly enjoy his company. He’s also patient and considerate in bed. I couldn’t ask for more.” Every word was a knife thrust into Miong’s heart. But then, Pole’s blithe tone changed into something darker. “And yet, with him, I can’t come. I’ve gotten very, very good at faking it. Do you know what does it for me?” Pole asked from out of the blue. When Miong doesn’t reply, Pole answered the question himself. “Imagining the touch of the man who coerced me.”

 

Pole clearly intended that to be recrimination. And it did hurt Miong, but he preferred to focus on Pole’s admission that the man currently in his life is lacking in one area- a lack that Miong can fill. “He can’t give you what you need, not really. Not like I can.” Miong leaned in to kiss Pole slowly, coaxing and intimate. “Leave him. Be with me instead. I promise to satisfy you on all counts. You won’t need to look anywhere else.”

 

A flash of anger flickered in Pole’s eyes. “I love him. And you used me.”

 

“I stopped considering you as an object to be used a long time ago,” Miong protested.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Pole said flatly. Just when Miong was going to ask Pole why sleep with him then, if the other man was so great, Pole spoke up again. “Now’s the time when you get to call me a whore. I know you wanted to the moment I said that I was with another man. Go ahead, it’s true.” The words, _you turned me into one_ were left unspoken, but it charged the air between them just the same. When Miong was about to contradict him, Pole added, “Then you can do whatever you’d still like to do to me. You have all night until morning.”

 

Part of Miong wanted to keep assuring Pole that he doesn’t think of him as a whore, but he knows that Pole wouldn’t believe that, coming from him. And if that’s what Pole needed from Miong right now, then he’ll oblige. He gave in and growled, “Beautiful whore. Now giving away for free what I once paid for so dearly.” He nudged Pole’s legs apart. “You’ll spread this for any man who’d look twice at you, right? Well, none of them can have you. It’s time for me to remind you of who _really_ owns you. On your hands and knees.” He wasted no more time and manhandled Pole into that position. Then he leaned down to lick greedily into the mess he’d made out of Pole’s hole, like it’s a feast laid out just for him. Taking his time to prepare Pole for another round. And another one after that.

 

When morning came, Miong turned to look up at Pole, who had already retrieved his clothes from where they had been carelessly strewn on the floor and was dressing himself back by the bedside. “When can I see you again?”  Miong hated that he couldn’t quite keep the _need_ from out of his question, but he hoped against hope that they would have more than just one night. How can he go back to the way he was before, now that he’s gotten a new taste of what he had long been deprived of, but yearned for so badly?

 

Pole’s expression had reverted back to impassivity. “I’ll text you.”

 

And that’s how this new…arrangement began.

 

Every once in a while, he would receive a short text from Pole that would signal the start of their rendezvous. They would always be in terse variations of “Same room, 9:00 PM.” Still, that would be enough to send Miong into a tailspin of elation and anxiety (which he had to conceal from the outside world) until that night finally rolled around. Once they’re both inside the hotel room Miong had booked for the night, they immediately fall into each other, forgoing small talk in favor of getting down to business. Though honestly, Miong wouldn’t have minded small talk. He would have appreciated Pole telling him about his day at work. Would have loved to share in any of his triumphs, big or small, and offer comfort in case there were setbacks, or just things Pole found irksome. Yet Miong’s brutally aware that’s not what Pole needed him for. Not when he has someone else for that.

 

As much as Miong wanted to keep his touches gentle and adoring, Pole would invariably bait and goad him until he snaps and handles Pole more roughly. Hold him down and call him slurs like “filthy whore,” and “shameless slut,” instead of the endearments he would much prefer to brand all over Pole’s skin. “My love. My own.” One time, the word “Mahal,” had slipped out of Miong as he was pressing open-mouthed kisses down the hollow of Pole’s throat, but Pole pushed him away and said angrily, “I don’t need that. Not from you.” Then he had glared and tried to get out of the bed, but Miong pulled him back. To make up for that slip, Miong bit Pole hard on the curve of his shoulder and took him twice as viciously. He never made that mistake again.

 

In the most profane ways possible, they christened almost every surface of that hotel room (it’s the same room every time, to keep things simple). Miong fucked Pole not only on the bed, but also on the couch, on top of the writing desk, against the wall, inside the showers, against the floor-to-ceiling windows (“so that the whole city will see what a wanton slut you are for me,” Miong had whispered roughly into Pole’s ear), and at one time, on the floor, with Miong not caring if Pole got rug burn from it afterwards.

 

During those nights, Miong would murmur a steady stream of filthy compliments and promises to Pole while their bodies are joined, reveling in Pole’s bodily surrender even only in this limited time and space. “The very respectable Atty. Mabini,” he would taunt. “So eager for cock that you’ll take it even from a man that you hate. What will your clients and colleagues think if they can see you like this now?” Pole let out a moan of mingled shock and shame at that, which intoxicates Miong further. “Don’t worry,” Miong crooned. “You’ll take it from both here”- his fingers gripping Pole’s jaw for emphasis- “and here,” giving Pole’s ass a smarting slap. The sound of it echoes obscenely inside the room.

 

Most of the time, Pole would wordlessly assent, too lost to carnal pleasure to make any objections, his prized rationality stripped away. But there are still moments when he would try to fight back. One time, Miong had said to him. “Look at you right now. Your body’s much more honest than you are. You were made for this.”

 

“My body is a traitor,” Pole had gasped. “It turned on me a long time ago.”

 

“You resent it for giving your true needs and nature away.” Miong refuted. “That’s why I’m not having any of your lies, not when your body yields to me this sweetly.” He bent down to suckle one of Pole’s tempting little nipples, while toying with the other one by rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

 

“Fuck you to hell and back,” Pole had retorted, but they both knew that his stooping to invective was an acknowledgement of his defeat.

 

Miong only chuckled at that, low and wicked. “Darling whore. You’ve got it the other way around.” Then he proceeded to do just that.

 

Pole flat-out rejected Miong’s suggestion that they take this to his home. But Pole was the one who raised the possibility of Miong bringing things from his Dark Chamber to use on him. Which Miong did. Restraints- both metal handcuffs and silken ropes. Cock rings and anal plugs. Different types of vibrators. A paddle for spanking, though Miong opted not to bring the riding crop. Everything he could need to take Pole to the precipice of ecstasy and hold him there until they’re both ready to fall down together. So this new arrangement between them eventually played out almost the same way as the one they had three years ago, under the contract Miong had foisted on Pole. Save for two crucial differences.

 

First, there’s no more money involved. Not so long ago, Miong would have been overjoyed at this setup. The object of his lusts, coming to him of his own free will for unbridled, no-holds barred sex, with no strings attached and no feelings involved. Even now, he can’t refuse a deal like that. Yet somewhere along the line, Miong has become a different person, so what he would have found gratifying before was now profoundly unsatisfactory. Under these new circumstances, making love to Pole was like drinking saltwater. No matter how much Miong drinks, it’s never enough to slake his thirst. Not even the entire ocean.

 

Second was that prior to this, Miong always had the control. That’s no longer the case. Miong is accustomed to being in control, both at work and in bed. In all but one of his previous relationships, Miong had been the one who did the pursuing, bedding, and leaving. It’s neater for him that way. Yet as much as Miong likes to taunt Pole that he’s easy, they both know who the real easy one is here. All it would take is one text from Pole to have Miong reorganizing his schedule and dropping any plans he may have for the night. He’s practically at Pole’s beck and call, even when he’s aware that Pole will just text him whenever it’s convenient, whenever he can spare time away from his actual lover. Therefore, Miong has now found himself in the exact position he had long sought to avoid- at the mercy of another.

 

Sometimes, Miong could almost hate Pole for this. For reducing him to this state of abject need. For letting Miong use his body, but cruelly withholding the parts of himself that Miong would have cherished, if given the chance. For spurning Miong’s attempts to take care of him. And most of all, for leaving Miong every time to go back to the arms of another man, who couldn’t possibly make him as happy as Miong can. (Miong recognizes that he’s not worthy of Pole, but he doubts that the other man is the paragon Pole had made him out to be).

 

Yes, it would be much easier for Miong if he could just hate Pole instead. Yet that’s the problem- he almost hates him because he can’t. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

 

From time to time, Miong fantasizes about hunting his rival for Pole down and confronting him, so that he could tell him about the things he and Pole do on their nights together, in excruciating detail. Miong would spite that man by describing at length exactly what he does to Pole in bed, and how Pole would respond, dwelling on the things Pole especially likes. He never thought he can despise a man he had never met so much, but he could easily imagine gloating to the other man’s smug face, “In those moments, it’s _me_ he needs and not you. That makes him mine by rights.”

 

There might be no chance of those vindictive reveries ever materializing, but Miong wishes for it nevertheless. That wouldn’t be payback enough for all the times he had to seethe in futile resentment about the other man enjoying what Miong wants. That man gets to bask in Pole’s smiles and delight, be assured of the warmth of his companionship and support, and exult in the pride of introducing Pole to his friends and acquaintances as his lover and partner. Whereas Miong has to settle for the occasional, furtive tryst in the same hotel room, whenever Pole can squeeze it in between his work and his relationship with someone else. That man has the real thing, while Miong only has the shadow. He gets to relish the full meal, while Miong has to make do with leftovers. It’s eating Miong up inside.

 

It's been almost a year since…whatever this is began. Miong knows that to insist that he longs for more, to tell Pole that he’s tired of just being the bit on the side, that he’s fed up with always having to wait for the next text, will have Pole terminating this arrangement in a heartbeat. Yet Miong’s not sure how much longer he can go on like this. As pleasurable as the sex still is, Miong feels hollowed out every time Pole will pointedly turn his back on him afterwards, as if their shared bliss meant nothing. More so when Pole would rebuff Miong’s offers of aftercare- cleaning him up, soothing his sore muscles, rubbing oil or lotion on any chafing on his skin left by the restraints, or just giving him a glass of water. And whenever Miong wakes up in the morning to find Pole gone (sometimes, he’s tempted to keep the restraints on to prevent Pole from leaving, but he knows Pole won’t be able to sleep comfortably with them on, so he still removes them), he feels empty. Like he’s the one who has been used.

 

Miong vaguely recalls a story- a myth, if he’s not mistaken- of a man condemned to hell, where he has to stand in a pool of water beneath a fruit tree with low-hanging branches. Every time he would try to take a fruit from the tree, it would move out of his reach, and every time he attempts to drink water from the pool, the waters would recede. Now he has an idea of what that must be like. As someone who tends to get excited by the thrill of the chase, Miong had previously agreed with the truism that anticipation is sweeter than the actual possession, but now, he thinks that’s rubbish. Having- yet not having- what you want, at the same time- is hell.

 

Right now, he’s looking outside the window of their hotel room, waiting for Pole to arrive. He received the text from Pole earlier that afternoon, but aside from confirming the usual time and place for their assignation, Pole’s text had ended with “We need to talk.” For Miong, that sounded ominous. That doesn’t bode well for the night ahead.

 

Finally, he hears Pole’s knock on the door, so Miong opens it to let him in. He was about to reach for Pole after shutting the door behind him, but then he sees that Pole’s eyes are rimmed with red. He’d been crying.

 

Miong doesn’t have to ask Pole what’s wrong- not when Pole reveals the reason soon enough. “Selong left me,” he chokes out with no preamble. “Just when I thought he was going to ask me to move in with him. He found out.” At that, Pole lets out a defeated sigh. “And here I thought I was discreet.”

 

Miong knows that he shouldn’t be gladdened by this news, not when Pole’s obviously in pain. Yet he still feels his heart leap in anticipation. Now that Miong’s rival is out of the picture, Pole is free to be pursued. He can therefore reclaim his rightful place at Pole’s side. But before he can say anything, Pole goes on. “To explain myself, I told him everything about the contract. He didn’t believe me.” He shakes his head at himself. “Selong told me that if it were true, why would I deliberately seek out a man who had ‘screwed me over?’ As he _so_ eloquently put it.”

 

“He never deserved you,” Miong asserts. He tries to take both Pole’s hands into his, but Pole jerks his hands away as though they’ve been scalded by the contact.

 

“He called me a whore, too. Just like you do,” Pole says bleakly. Miong couldn’t stand to see Pole so dejected, but he tells himself that he can make it all better.

 

“You’re well-rid of him now. Forget him. Belong to me instead,” Miong urges, taking Pole into his arms. “I’m the only one you have now. The one you have left.”

 

Pole looks at him incredulously. “You’re willing to take on another man’s rejects?”

 

“You can never be that for me,” Miong assures him. “To me, you are a prize.”

 

“Then you are a fool,” Pole bites back. He laughs mirthlessly and tries to break away from Miong. “I actually came here to tell you that we can’t do this anymore.”

 

In that instant, Miong’s elation turns into sheer, blinding panic. “No. _No._ I can’t lose you again, Pole. Last time was bad enough. I won’t allow it,” he says, holding on to Pole even tighter.

 

Pole tries again to push Miong away. “Get over me, Miong,” he pleads, voice sad and forlorn. “Find someone who can truly love you. God knows I’ve used you badly enough as it is.”

 

“Then continue using me! I can handle it!” Miong burst out. That was a lie, but Pole need not know that. To keep Pole, Miong will do a lot more than just lie.

 

“Even if you’re not tired of this, I am,” Pole insists, turning his face away from Miong. “This has gone on for long enough.”

 

Miong lifts Pole’s chin up with his fingers so that he can meet his eyes again. “ _Please._ I’ll do anything, be anything. I’ll even be a substitute for the man that you really love.” Miong’s used to deference, and even a little fear, from the people around him. Yet look at him now. Begging just to keep the scraps that he has from being taken away. Dignity and self-respect all but forgotten. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Even if that makes him pathetic. “Just _stay.”_

 

Pole continues to regard Miong wearily. “I know you better than that, Miong. Your pride won’t let you be content with just being second best, not for long. Soon, you’ll resent it. You’ll grow to hate me, as much as you claim to love me now.”

 

“What are you talking about? You mean more to me than my pride,” Miong contradicts him. Then a thought occurs to his mind. “You’ve been left behind, so you want to leave me before I can do the same to you? Is that it? Or is this just you lashing out?” he demands. “How heartless can you be?” God, Pole can be _so_ infuriating. Here Miong is, practically abasing himself before him, yet Pole can still be unmoved by it all. How much more does Pole need?

 

Pole doesn’t answer that directly. Instead, he settles for saying, “You’ll thank me for this one day, Miong. I’m doing you a favor.”

 

“Don’t give me that patronizing bullshit! How dare you suggest that you’re doing this for my own good?!” Miong snaps. “At least have the decency to admit that you’re hurting me! That you blame me and want to punish me!”

 

“You want honesty from me? How about this?” Pole fires back. “I _hate_ what you did to me, Miong. You’ve turned me into a twisted version of myself. For that, I cannot forgive you. And that’s _why_ we can never be.”

 

That’s when all the imaginary castles Miong had built around the dream of a shared future with Pole comes crumbling down. He had stubbornly clung to the hope that given time and effort, he can make Pole love him back. That if he drowns Pole in sensual pleasure, whatever he did in the past will no longer matter. Now, Miong has been woken up rudely from his self-delusions. He comes to realize that all he had done was to taint Pole’s innate brightness with his selfish desires. The contract he had imposed on Pole was not just a crime- it’s the original sin for which he can never atone.

 

Despite his devastation, part of Miong still wants to keep fighting for Pole, even though it’s hopeless. Yet of course, Pole will not allow him to. He had delivered the last word. There’s nothing left for Miong but to give Pole up. Why did he have to fall in love in the first place? He had tasted none of love’s reputed sweetness- only its bitterness. And now, he has to drink despair down to its dregs. Yet he’s still unable to loathe the one who had brought him this low. That’s probably the worst part for Miong.

 

Miong captures Pole’s lips with his own, stifling the sound Pole makes in protest. He kisses Pole, hot and hungry, refusing to take no for an answer. Pole gasps when they break apart. “Miong, _stop._ This will only hurt us more. We should end this.”

 

Miong strokes Pole’s cheek with reverent fingers. “If you really must go,” he says hoarsely, “at least leave me with something. Even just one more memory of you. For once, let me love you as you deserve. Just for tonight. That’s all I ask.”

 

Pole hesitates over this for a few moments, but he caves in. “One last night,” he relents. Then he kisses Miong back. 

 

On their final night, there are no more lies, no more evasions, no more pretenses. No more walls. No more trying to hurt each other in the middle of fucking. Miong makes the most of his remaining time, worshipping Pole with both his hands and mouth. In turn, Pole doesn’t resist tenderness from Miong anymore, or goad him into being rougher. His body melts completely when Miong slides inexorably home. This was lovemaking in its purest, most elemental form, and it breaks Miong’s heart that it couldn’t be like that between him and Pole from then on. Eventually, Miong can no longer stave off the inevitable. He spends himself inside Pole, his pleasure mingled with regret. Love and loss. Pole reaches his own peak moments later, helplessly crying out Miong’s name in his release. It’s the only time he had let himself go enough to do so. The sound of Pole’s voice at that moment will haunt Miong’s memories for years.

 

When it was over at last, Miong gathers Pole close to him, running his fingers slowly through Pole’s hair “If I didn’t…ruin everything by offering you that contract,” he asks, “do you think there could have been something between us? Something good?”

 

Pole gazes back at Miong, eyes uncertain and more than a little lost. “I don’t know,” was all he says. Yet the wistfulness in his tone gives the answer away. Miong surrounds Pole in his embrace and silently prays that the dawn would never come.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't feel guilty torturing Miong in this one, because I'm going to make him very happy in the next couple of stories I plan to write in this AU (More accurately, Pole will make him very happy). This universe is still not done with me. "sigh" But hey, I'll just let the Mabinaldo muse do as s/he wills. For as long as s/he sticks around :)


End file.
